


This Granger

by Turningonthelight



Series: Tumblr Drabble Prompts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Parallel Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turningonthelight/pseuds/Turningonthelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco had spent months poring over the rules about universe-hopping. The most important was, without a doubt, Never change anything. Parallel universes, the books said, were like muggle funhouse mirrors. Though either side of the mirror may be completely different, the two are still related, and one single change on one side can completely alter the appearance of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Granger

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by inkandpastels: Either Draco's or Hermione's POV rant/thoughts about their realisation that they're in love with/attracted to the other?

Draco had spent months poring over the rules about universe-hopping. The most important was, without a doubt,  _Never change anything._ Parallel universes, the books said, were like muggle funhouse mirrors. Though either side of the mirror may be completely different, the two are still related, and one single change on one side can completely alter the appearance of the other. It was the same for time-travel, and Draco had done enough of that for the Unspeakables that the rules were cemented into his brain.

            So it was by supreme and complete carelessness that Draco ventured from the cool safety of darkened alleyways and emerged into the busy streets of This London to find the murderer he was looking for. And, of course, it was by supreme and complete carelessness that Draco had literally crashed into This Hermione Granger.

 

            She had been carrying books in a small shopping bag, her bush of a hair style flapping in the brisk autumn breeze—later, he supposed some things never changed—and every single volume toppled out of the bag and onto the sidewalk with several loud thuds. The surrounding pedestrians had parted around them like the sea around a prow, and Draco, having not seen whom he’d run into quite yet, had cursed himself for his negligence as he bent down to help the girl with her belongings. When he looked up, a pile of Jane Austen books in one hand, he nearly fell over in shock.

            “Oh, shite, thank you very much,” This Granger had said, taking the books from Draco and standing. “I must not have been watching where I was going… tends to happen every once in a while. Quite sorry that I ran into you… Are you alright?” she then asked quizzically when Draco did not stand and instead continued to stare at the brunette.

            “Oh, er, yes, yes, quite alright.” Draco then rose to his feet and dusted off his coat. It was rather remarkable, how alike This Granger looked like his Granger, and yet how different. They both had the same bushy hair, the same perfect teeth, the same large brown eyes, and yet this Granger was a fair bit taller (nearly as tall as him) and her accent was different. Crisper. A bit more posh. And there was less of an air of “I know more than you do” and more of a “Let me teach you everything I know”, if that made any sense.

            “Pardon me,” This Granger then said. “But you look rather familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

            “Er—I mean, well—no, no you don’t. I don’t think so. I—no, not at all.”

            This Granger had smiled shyly and hesitated before asking, “Do you happen to be… are you busy at the moment?”

            “What—now?” Draco had replied, quite intelligently.

            “As a matter of fact, yes. I was just on my way to lunch from the library…”

            “I… er…” This was very dangerous. Very, very dangerous. And yet, This Granger was a curiosity, a completely new person who seemed a fair bit more agreeable than his own, didn’t hold an intense (though completely founded) grudge against him, and had no reason to fear or dislike him. Meeting her was a coincidence that could not have happened unless it was meant to. That’s how Draco finally reasoned it in that moment—if some divine being put This Granger in front of him, who was he to deny Their whims? “Yes. Yes, that would be lovely.”

            That had been two weeks ago, and Draco had come no closer to catching his killer. Instead, he had spent almost every waking moment with This Granger (the ones not with the brunette were spent at a small, inexpensive hotel), going to the café, talking about books, and seeing films. Her passion for everything was overwhelming—anything from film stars to politics, from communism to pop culture she had an opinion on, and one well-backed with facts and morals. Just listening to her speak was fascinating. Draco found himself incredibly grateful that he had taken to muggle literature a few years ago, or else they would have had much less to talk about. His first assumption had been correct—This Granger was much milder. Or, perhaps, it was just the fact that she had no idea who he was.

            She’d asked halfway through their lunch date, and Draco decided to tell her the truth. To his relief, she showed no recognition toward the name. Since then, This Granger had given no indication that she was anything but muggle, and doubted that, unless he found a wand on her person, she would ever reveal it otherwise to him, considering they had run into each other in the heart of This Muggle London. She did mention a few times that she’d gone to university, but that meant little as more and more wizards were attending muggle post-secondary education these days.

            To Draco’s delight and chagrin, This Granger was captivating. Because she had no idea who Draco was, facets of herself (and perhaps his own Granger) were revealed—a powerful, infectious laugh, an easy smile, a melodic cadence in her voice, and a fast, humorous wit. The fact that his killer was still running about This World niggled at the back of Draco’s mind, but he could not bring himself to acknowledge it past that.

            At the moment, Draco’s fingers were tingling and his toes were buzzing as This Granger brandished the keys to her flat from her pocket. “All I’ve got in at the moment is water and orange juice,” she said apologetically as she opened the door. “And some crisps and cereal, if you’re hungry.”

            “That’s alright,” Draco said as he walked in, trying not to blatantly stare the flat. It was small but cosy, with dark wood-like floors and a tiny kitchen lit by a single, colourful lamp in the centre of the island counter. Down the room there was a small couch, and across the whole back wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, broken only by a small television sitting in one of the cubicles.

            “Crooks!” This Granger cooed into the flat. “Crooks, Mummy’s home!”

            A large, rather ugly tabby cat walked into the kitchen with an angry yowl, its head held high and haughty. Draco supposed any arrogance that This Granger was missing from his Granger had been channelled into his cat.

            “I hope you don’t mind a bit of fur. I’m usually very meticulous about it but, you know, it’s impossible to get it all. The couch should be fairly safe, though, he only ever sits on my lap when he’s on it…” This Granger rambled, and Draco could not help but smile.

            “I don’t mind. I have an owl at home. The feathers get everywhere, and don’t even mention the pellets.”

            This Granger’s eyes widened. “An  _owl?_ ”

            “Mm, yes,” Draco said. “A great eagle owl. I call her Hera.”

            “Queen of the Gods. A rather pretentious name.”

            “Quite. She’s a very pretentious owl. Very stubborn, as well.”

            This Granger grinned as she leaned over the island, toward Draco. “You live such a fascinating life.” Draco had told her that he worked for the government, though he wasn’t allowed to tell her much anything else and was currently on holiday. He also mentioned the Manor, in that it was his childhood home, and the contents of their conversations revealed the extent of his travelling.

            “I suppose,” he said. “Have you ever been out of the country?”

            “Oh, yes. Once. Holiday in France with the rest of my family.”

            “Favourite part?”

            She grinned. “The Louvre, of course.”

            Draco laughed. This Granger had told him about her fascination-slash-infatuation with museums a few days previously. “It’s like walking through history!” she had said, almost dreamily.     

            “What’s yours?” she asked him.

            “Notre Dame,” he answered almost instantly, and then said in explanation, “I like architecture.”

            This Granger cocked her head and smiled. “You’re like something out of a novel.”

            “A good novel, I hope.” He grinned.

            “Oh yes, the very best.” She started, as though just remembering something. “I nearly forgot! I was looking through my class photos from university and I found this. Come on.” She began walking away from the kitchen and toward a door at one end of the tiny sitting room, a door which presumably led to her bedroom. Draco paused before following— _This is really getting out of hand!_ —but ignored himself and followed her anyway.

            The bedroom matched the rest of the flat, and was taken up mostly by a single bed. There was a little desk and a dresser on the wall opposite the bed, covered in papers. The wall itself was smothered in photographs, at which Draco could not help but stare. There were many of what Draco assumed was a young This Granger with what he guessed were her parents, and even more of friends. Draco scanned swiftly for any sign of ginger hair or spectacles, but could not find one familiar face. “Here,” she said, beckoning him forward from next to the bed and holding up a large piece of photo paper. “There’s me…” She pointed to a very slightly younger version of herself. “And if you look there…”

            Draco stared, wide-eyed, at the person This Granger gestured too. He looked much more arrogant than Draco, with a slouching yet domineering posture, a smug smirk plastered on pale, pointed features haloed in white-silver hair.

            “His name was Scorpius Malfoy. A bit of a prat, if I remember correctly. We didn’t really talk, but I had a few classes with him.” Draco could not tear his eyes away from the photograph. Scorpius. That was what his mother had asked him to name his future child on her deathbed. “Do you know him?”

            Draco shook his head, throat dry.

            This Granger shrugged. “The resemblance is rather uncanny, though, isn’t it?”

            “Mmm,” Draco said affirmatively, physically incapable of doing anything else.

            This Granger, perhaps sensing his uneasiness, slipped the photo back in its envelope and placed it back into the basket, pushing the basket under the bed. “Fancy a film?” she asked.

            “Alright.”

            Hours later found them fed on Chinese takeaway and still giggling over the film. Cartons of noodles sat empty on their laps as the ending credits rolled down the screen, and Crookshanks the cat lounged in a small bed in the corner of the room, disinterestedly cleaning his paws. Hermione’s—as that’s how Draco had begun to distinguish the two, Granger and Hermione—shoulder leaned against his own and the very ends of her hair tickled his cheek. “I forgot how much I loved that film,” Hermione said between the trickling of giggles left. “Oh, that was delightful, really. Here.” She grabbed Draco’s carton and stood, leaving Draco with a rather cold shoulder. “Oh, shite,” she said from the kitchen. “It’s really late. Oh, hell, I can’t believe I kept you this long!”

            Draco checked his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock.

            He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch where he’d draped it before the film began. “It wasn’t a trouble at all. I enjoyed myself. Really.”

            Hermione smiled. “I would hate for you to have to walk home like this, it being so dark and all.”

            Draco shook his head. “Honestly, I’ll be fine.” He headed toward the door. “Can I meet you tomorrow at the café, say about ten in the morning?”

            “Mm, sounds good,” she said, following him to the door. “Maybe we’ll rent some bikes and go around a bit.”

            “Bikes?”

            “Mhm. Unless you can’t ride,” she added quickly.

            “No, no. We can do that. Let’s.”

            “Brilliant.”

            Draco pulled open the door and began to walk out, turning around at the last minute. “Thank you, Hermione, for a lovely night.”

            “You’re welcome, Draco.” And he was just about to turn around again and leave for real this time when she leaned forward and kissed him very gently on the mouth.

            When she pulled way, looking quite bashful, Draco stared at her incredulously.

            “I—oh, dammit, did I… bollocks, I didn’t—“

            “No, no, it’s okay, really!” Draco assured her quickly. “No, that was… that was nice. Very nice.”

            She smiled wryly. “You don’t have to sound so apologetic, Draco. If I’m a bad kisser, you can tell me.”

            “No, honestly. It was lovely. I can prove it,” he said dumbly, and then leaned forward to kiss her. Hermione eagerly met him halfway, and this kiss was much better than the first. Her lips were soft and firm against his own and moved pleasantly. He stepped forward, letting his hands to rise and land on her shoulders as they deepened the kiss. And then, quite suddenly, she pulled away again.

            “It’s going to be near twelve by the time you get home,” she told him.

            “That’s really not a problem,” he replied softly, cupping her face and leaning down so their noses brushed.

            “I’ll feel terribly guilty…”

            “Well, I suppose  _that_ is a problem. Your guilt complex is legendary.”

            “Quite. This can all continue tomorrow, rest assured.”

            “I’m not very good at being patient…”

            “Of course you are. It’s one of your many talents.”

            “We can explore all the others, if you’d like.” Draco smirked, and Hermione laughed.

            “Tomorrow morning. I promise.”

            “Well, alright,” Draco said reluctantly, finally withdrawing. “Promise?”

            Hermione positively beamed. “Promise.”

            It was only after Draco began walking toward the nearest tube station that the realisation of what had just happened hit him. “Oh, dear God,” he said, falling against the nearest wall and ignoring curious onlookers. “Oh, Merlin, what am I doing?”

            It was pure carelessness. Nothing else to call it. Because now he was _past_ attracted to This Granger,  _past_ liking her,  _past_ enjoying her company, and completely blowing by  _fancying_ her—Draco was falling for her. Hard. And, if the kiss they had just shared was anything to go by, the feeling was mutual.

             _I don’t belong here,_ he thought to himself miserably.  _I am not doubt ruining futures in hundreds of parallel universes, including my own._

            The sensible, cautious thing to do would be to leave this very moment, before anything else happened to mess things up. But, if there was one thing that trumped sensibility and cautiousness in Slytherin House, it was selfishness. And Draco could think of nothing he’d want more than kissing Hermione again tomorrow. 


End file.
